What an arsehole. But as long as he sat up, Jamie didn't care what Clint did in protest. But he felt the wobble and kept the other man as steady as possible, ready to run for one of their little vomit bags if he needed to. Thankfully, that wasn't something that was happening. Alright then. "I know," he murmured, lightly patting Clint's hair.
"I didn't say you did. I just said you already have them. Which, point proven," he arched an eyebrow with a faint smirk. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a grey-ish looking potion in a bottle and offered it to him, "Drink this. Give it about ten minutes and your head'll start feeling better. It's not going to taste nice but don't spit it out. I'm running low."